


We're Burning

by acutepyromania



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acutepyromania/pseuds/acutepyromania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years out of college and still struggling for a career, Gavin Free is a freelance film maker living in South Bronx. He lives a pretty low-key life in a run down apartment, settled in between gun shot alley and pick pocket court, and the only advantage to it is that he's never seen a single tourist on his street.</p><p>He's never really bothered with his neighbors before. He doesn't care about them, doesn't care about their problems or their daddy issues. He turns a blind eye to them, and keeps to himself. That's until the guy upstairs moves in, and he realizes maybe he isn't so different from all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Here

Gavin trudged through the lobby, the soles of his shoes sticking to the tile as he walked. The sudden blast of warm air burned his wind-whipped cheeks, just making him flush further. Each step of the stairwell to his apartment felt like mountains, cramping his thighs and yanking on his worn hamstrings. The metal, industrial stairs banged under his tired footsteps, ringing in the narrow space.  
  
The Bronx had never treated him well, and now wasn't an exception.

He had moved here a few years ago, fresh out of college, to pursue a career in film. New York was an epicenter for a lot of things, the film industry being one of many. He'd applied for jobs, thrown his profolio onto every empty desk and posted it to every open corkboard in the city. Sure, he had small jobs. Freelance work. But his name still sat at the bottom of the cesspool of the Bronx, New York, even the industry itself.

He jammed his key into the lock and drove the door open with his shoulder, kicking it shut behind him. Smee wound around his ankles as he peeled off his shoes at the heels, not seeming to care as he kicked his shoes across the floor and onto the dirty shoe mat in his entryway. He slips his bag off his shoulder and dumps it by the side of his bed, looping his way back into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water and leans against the counter, freezing mid-sip when the sound of a crack of a paddle comes from his neighboring wall. Him and the woman next door groan in unison, almost in some off-tune harmony.

Gavin learned a long time ago that a run down apartment almost comes with it's own selection of fucked up people.

In 215 lives a couple. A young couple. Gavin met them two months after he moved in. He can't remember their names, but remembers the young guy's white picket fence smile and baby-blue eyes that seemed too sterile. He remembers his wife, who proudly proclaimed they go to church every Sunday, with her pink cardigan and modest capris.

Everybody in the block pretends they don't hear him slap her across the ass twenty times over every Sunday night.

There's a Mexican chick in 213 who leaves her apartment everyday in a business suit and a duffle bag and comes back every night in a pair of pink fishnets and a miniskirt. Gavin doesn't even know her name, doesn't care, but if he ever got desperate enough he has a good idea where he can go.

In 114 there's a kid in college, and he knows his name is Michael. Michael reeks of pot and sometimes Gavin can hear him scream from two floors up, can hear the sounds of Atari, Nintendo, Call of Duty from his bedroom. Gavin doesn't like him. Which is a bummer, because he hasn't played Atari in years.

And then there's that guy.

Up in 314, there's a guy about his age. A dirty Puerto Rican, with a long tangle of dark hair and he's got the facial hair of a highschool freshman, two weeks without a razor. He's nothing but a bag of bones who carries himself like he's hot shit, when he's probably one of the handful of immigrants that live in this complex. His name's Ray and Gavin doesn't trust him.

He's got the air of somebody who knows too much of what he shouldn't and not enough of what he should. Gavin's seen him, seen him waltz through the lobby with Gucci stuffed under his arm, Prada in his jacket, Michael Kors spilling out his pockets. He hears the discussions through his thin walls, hell, his thin ceiling. There's always people from Craigslist knocking on his apartment door. They've even come to his door, looking for him. I mean, shit, he's one floor above him. He gets his damn mail all the time too.

That's the only reason he knows his name.

Gavin doesn't realize he's been crinkling his water bottle, staring absently into the stained white tile of his kitchen until the women next door starts gasping as the bed bangs against the wall. He rolls his eyes as the sound turns to an unevened stutter and patters against the wall, followed by the shrill moan of a woman obviously faking an orgasm. He downs his water and tosses it the bottle into the recycling, patting across the floor to his bedroom. Smee follows, chirping quietly. He runs a finger under his chin, tracing behind his ears when he jumps up on the bed. He follows suit, sprawling out on the bed, heaving a sigh. He runs his fingers down Smee's back for awhile, but his skin starts to crawl and he squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing them, but all it seem to do was make him more restless. His lips are chapped and when he tries to part them, they stick. He sits for a few moments longer before he gives in, hauling himself up on his elbow and reaching into the bedside drawer.

His fingers meet a small zippo lighter and he pulls it out. With a quick strike its lit and Gavin watches it sway in the slight breeze from his broken window, and the uncomfortable feeling in his skin vanishes and he relaxes into his bed. He licks his lips and he can feel the slight, gentle warmth its putting out. Curiousily, he brings it closer, feeling his warm his wet mouth. He looks down at Smee out of the corner of his eye, watching him watch the flame.

"I feel like you've taken after my habits," he says quietly, but he's barely spoken all day so its more of a croak. He clicks the lighter closed abruptly, running his tongue over his dry bottom lip again and stares out the window because if he keeps looking at the bed he may give in and set it on fire.

With a firm hand he tosses the lighter back in the drawer and closes it, turning to face the window. He unbuttons and kicks off his pants and tugs the blanket up around him, keeping his gaze set out the window as Smee slowly curls up and settles against the back of his knees. He smoothes the hair out of his face and burrows against the pillow, laughing breathily into it when its more of a sarcastic aspiration.

I guess a pyromaniac would belong here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after six, seven years I've finally written a fanfic and published it. Blame Kristen lmao.
> 
> This is going to be multi-chapter but I can't promise frequent updates because I have horrible motivation so I'll just apologize in advance for being a terrible author.


	2. We're Cold

It's 5:40 when Gavin wakes up twenty minutes before this alarm to a blast of cold air. He fumbles blindly for his phone first, checking the time before curling back in on himself. He figures its probably just his broken window, and tries to relax again. But the cold seems to be seeping through the walls, and chilling the entire place from chipped floorboards to water stained ceiling.  
  
It's 5:55 when Gavin tears out of bed and slaps on the lightswitch, only to be left in the dimness of the early morning. He immediately pulls out his phone and scrolls through his speed dial, quickly finding his apartment's desk number with a practiced ease, proving this isn't an uncommon occurance.  
  
The small Asian woman who works the desk in the morning barely gets to chirp a greeting before Gavin is spitting pure hellfire at her, flicking the lightswitch on and off as if trying to convey his point uselessly to her.  
  
"You're telling me the damn powers out? Again?" he stains into the phone, dumming his fingers on the wall impatiently. He's freezing, so he struggles to pull his hoodie over his head while trying to decode her shitty excuses through her accent. She stammers and stutters, unable to answer any of his questions, and just as he's getting sick of her, his alarm blares in his ear and he throws his phone down with a curse, hanging up on her in the process.  
  
He drags his hand through his hair and turns to look at himself in the mirror, and with a resigned sigh, he starts to get ready, pulling his clothes together and shuffling his way to the bathroom, which somehow seems to be even colder.  
  
He always hated the cold.  
  
He splashes warm water on his face, and almost regrets it because it makes the rest of his body feel so much colder. He runs his fingers through his two-day old hair, and decides to run some water through it when it feels like olive oil across his fingers. He decides not to shave, because he's shivering so hard from the cold he might slice his throat open. At least he looks good with a scruff.  
  
The cold hasn't let up at all so Gavin changes into a heavy cable knit sweater and a warm jacket and grabs his duffle, running his fingers along Smee from head to tail before making his way out the door. The stairs down to the lobby are like hell frozen over, frost literally gathering on the metal hand rails. He slowly makes his way towards the door, somehow hesitant now to leave his apartment-become-freezer.  
  
Outside, its snowing. Big, fat flakes, slowly drifting. It's not like he didn't know it was coming. All he heard about for the past two weeks was this snowstorm, and now, here it is. It's already covering everything in an even, flat coating, about three inches thick. There's piles of it on street corners, the plows already out because the streets have clearly been scraped but the snow is slowly reclaiming them.  
  
He stares at it, and he suddenly feels bitter, because this is probably the reason why his power is out. Again. He watches it for awhile longer, before stomping through the snow, disturbing it's clean-cut masterpiece litering the sidewalk.  
  
It's times like these Gavin questions ever moving to the Bronx, ever moving up to this snowy eternal hell. He can deal with the rain, he can deal with the sweltering heat and the dank, sticky humidity. But the snow chills him to the bone and saps him of everything, it seems like, and it leaves Gavin in an even worse mood then before.  
  
He walks a few blocks through his 'neighborhood', which is more of an industrial parkway with ratty apartments scattered through out, to his nearest subway station, and boards. He goes two stops down the line and gets off, walking another two blocks to a small convience store. He's fifteen minutes early, so he grabs an energy drink out of the fridge and cracks it open, writing a note to his boss with his free hand. He slips it into the register and makes his way to the back where his co-worker, Jeremy, is sprawled out in an office chair.  
  
"Sup, Jeremy," he says, pulling his name tag out of his bag and pinning it to his belt loop. He offers him a simple wave before looking over the schedule. He's excited about his short, five hour shift until he remembers that he gets to go home to a freezer box. Fuck.  
  
"Hey, Gavin," he offers back, giving him a little three finger wave without looking up from his magazine, which he probably grabbed off the rack from the front, just like Gavin had done, "what's up, bud?"  
  
"I woke up to Antartica in my bedroom," he mumbled around his Redbull, taking another heavy sip from it before setting it down and running a hand through his hair.  
  
"Woah, you slept with a chick named Antartica? Where'd you find her?" he said, busting into laughter when Gavin threw a dirty look back at him, "sorry, sorry. Couldn't help myself. Your heat busted again?"  
  
"You're not sorry," Gavin snorted, picking up his Redbull by the rim and circling out into the front of the store, completely ignoring his question, "I've gotta go clock in. See ya."  
  
"Aw c'mon, don't be a little bitch!" he hollered from the back, and Gavin rolled his eyes, swiping his employee card and punching in. He set up the computer and the register, straightening out everything behind the counter. Without anything else to do, he leaned against the counter, picking under his nails. The time seemed to drag on, and twenty minutes felt like two hours without anybody coming in. He glanced up at the door, and caught a glimse of drifting snow, and the sudden uncomfortable drag under his skin became apart and he rubbed his arm, getting more rigorous when the feeling wouldn't fade. His mind kept slipping without anything to keep him occupied, and he felt his fingers itch for his pocket, and he nearly slammed his fist on the counter when he did not feel his lighter there.  
  
He was just about to curse and tear onto the main floor to get himself a lighter when a noise startled him out of his daze. His eyes suddenly snapped back into focus, and he was face-to-face with a middle aged man, looking at him two parts confused and two parts annoyed.  
  
"Uh, I'd like to buy a pack of cigarettes?" he said, and Gavin sharply cleared his throat, clammering for his keys, his hands still shaking.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, sure thing." 

 

* * *

 

 

Gavin barely makes it to the end of his shift before he's ripping into a pack of lighters and sloppily writing his boss another note to shove into the cash register, throwing a bunch of old recycling and newspaper into the skin. He's shaking at this point, crumbling them and cramming them down, trying to stuff as much as he can into the small ceramic sink. And without a lick of hestitation, he pulls the trigger and lights it.  
  
It goes up in a flurry and Gavin drops the cheap, plastic lighter. The nagging tension under his skin and the rampid thoughts in the back of his mind calm and he leans against the wall, watching it eat away at the print and leave nothing but charred scraps.  
  
He reaches out for it, feels the warm tingle against his hand and it's like cocaine after waking up to a cold bed and an even colder apartment. For a split second, he's tempted to dip his hand right into the flame. But he just watches it, watches it sizzle out in the sink before running cold water through it, throwing any solid chunks away and cleaning his mess up.  
  
He finishes up, doing a bit of grunt work around the store before clocking out, bidding a much more mellow goodbye to Jeremy, who raises an eyebrow at his sudden change in attitude, but doesn't question it, and just gives him the same three-finger wave.  
  
He walks back the same two blocks, but gets off one stop early, and makes his way to a little hole in the wall tucked on the corner of a small restuarant district on the edge of Bronx. A cafe, if you would. Little-big town Starbucks, Gavin likes to call it.  
  
He nudges the door open with his shoulder and gets in line to order, the buzz of a New York coffee shop very distinct to him now. He watches the baristas scramble and lean over counters and grind coffee beans as people shuffle in and out of the kitchen with baked goods and dumping them onto display. Its a sound that makes his ears ring, but he's grown to like it.  
  
He orders a simple coffee, one cream, two sugars, and a crossiant, and waits by the bar. The counter is dark and cool under his fingers and he itches the warmth of flame again, the familiar itch crawling up his back. When the barista hands him his coffee he clutches for it impatiently, the need quelled slightly by the almost seering heat of his cup. He sips it, rolling it along his tongue in an effort not to burn it. Just as he goes to take a bite of his crossiant, a familiar flash of dark brown hair skirts by his vision and he feels his skin crawl again.  
  
Ray is leaning over the bar, smiling warmly at the barista as she hands him his coffee. He thanks her and turns abrutly, and their shoulders brush, sending Gavin against the lip of the bar.  
  
"Oh, hey, sorry," he says, turning to him with the same warm expression, before its dropped for a look of questioning, "wait, don't you live in my apartment? Isn't your name like...Gaben? Greg? Grant? Gordon?"  
  
"Gavin. It's Gavin."  
  
"Hey, Gavin, what's up!" he says without skipping a beat. He pulls his beanie down around his ears, trying to tuck them up under his hat, "Jesus, it's cold as a bitch out, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah, it really is," he mumbles, trying to avoid this conversation at all costs. Ray's still looking at him with that welcoming expression and friendly smile, and it makes Gavin feel uncomfortable. His eyes wander, trying to break his gaze, when he spots the distinct flashing light of a 3DS peering from the corner of Ray's duffle. His face crumbles, trying to make out the casing because it doesn't look like any 3DS he's ever seen. Ray notices his intense focus on his bag, and seems to stiffen for a fraction of a second, but it may have just been his imagination.  
  
"You like Nintendo?" he asks, and Gavin's eyes are drawn back up to his face. He's still smiling, but his features seem a bit more rigid now, losing the friendly softness it held earlier. Gavin notices this and quirks his brow, licking his suddenly parched lips.  
  
"What kind of 3DS is that?" he asks back, completely ignoring Ray's question. He's running his thumb across the slick plastic lighter in his pocket, trying to ease the crawling under his skin.  
  
"Oh, its the limited edition Zelda one," he says nonchalantly, but the shift in his posture isn't so nonchalant, "here, uh, want to sit down? I just got it today. I can show you. I just picked up Alpha Sapphire today. You like Pokemon, right? You seem like a Pokemon kind of guy to me."  
  
Gavin stands perfectly still for a moment, mulling over the situation.  
  
In front of him, stands the most suspicious person living in his suspicious little apartment block. With his mass of unruly curls, about as ungroomed as the rest of him, and that warm, warm smile, that's a little too warm. He keeps readjusting his bag, as if nervous, as if he doesn't want him to see what else he has hidden in his bag, besides a limited edition 3DS that isn't supposed to launch for another two weeks.  
  
"I don't have anything better to do," he finally says as he slips into a booth, and he just barely catches it as Ray's smile curls into a hint of a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly surprised how easily this chapter came to me, even with the little bit of writer's block I encountered. Here's the second chapter. Enjoy the frequent updates while they last, haha.


	3. We're Shadows

Gavin made his way down the long, winding stairway and into the subway, which resembled more of a cave then anything, especially with the moist air and dirty ice clotted in the grout. It was pretty deserted; only the occasional straggler wondered by. A few guys in suits littered the benches, obviously trying to get back after a longer than desired day at their shitty office job, evenly spread out, following the number one unspoken rule of the subway in true form, keep your distance.  
  
He really hadn't meant to stay out this late. Normally on days like this, he locks himself up in his apartment, and pulls the blinds. Sometimes, if he's desperate, he turns on the stove and burns old receipts until this stovetop is nothing but a thin layer of ash.  
  
He doesn't know why he spent so much time at that cafe.

He watches Ray spread out his arsenal of baked goods across the table. A slice lemon pound cake and what looks like a dozen bagels, put in a simple paper bag. It doesnt' really surprise him, because a lot of people come in here to order things in bulk. What does surprise him, is how sweet his coffee smells. He puts it on the table and he can nearly taste the richness of the syrup in the back of his throat, like he just swallowed a mouthful of melted sugar.  
  
"Are you a diabetic?" he asks sarcastically, and he only realizes what he just said when Ray laughs, and it sounds like one the those laughs that come from the depths of your chest, one of those laughs that never seem to make it to your mouth. It seems to hang in the air until Gavin looks at him, brows furrowed, and Ray huffs around his coffee cup, taking a sip slowly.  
  
"You know, they do say sugar is a drug," he says offhandedly, raising an eyebrow as he sets his cup down. He turns and starts rooting through his bag when Gavin raises an eyebrow in return, pulling out his 3DS and flashing it with a smug smile. He pulls out another small, neat metal case and pops it open, revealing 18 games tucked in the compact, 9 on top and 9 on the bottom.  
  
"Jesus," Gavin says quietly, and Ray's smile widens and he pushes the case towards Gavin and he takes it into hungry, curious hands, picking it up and gently looking over them over. He gently pulls Super Mario 3D Land out of its clasp and looks at it wantonly. He never had the luxury of Nintendo products, let alone Xbox or PS. All his money went toward bills, or filming equipment. Pleasure wasn't a given in his anymore. Not recently.  
  
"Want to play it?" Ray asks, breaking him from his brief trance. His eyes wander in the shiny, golden 3DS in outstretched hand to Ray's face, still smiling. That warm smile that made his spine crawl and raise the hairs on his arms. The smile of somebody who's a little too friendly for their own good. Anybody's good.  
  
"...Sure," he says, taking it from him cautiously. He took it from him as if he was afraid his fingers would be broken in half if he dared to try and take it. But nothing happened, and as soon as it was in his hands he flipped it open and turned it on, watching it boot up and the icons swirl on start up.  
  
"I haven't played a DS since the original launched," he mentioned reluctantly, trying to fill the silence. Ray just sat and watched him, with the smallest hint of a smile, and Gavin swallowed, carrying on in an attempt for him to speak, "it still works, but I haven't played it in forever."  
  
"I've kept up with their consoles since the N64," Ray says with a shrug, stretching his arms up over head and tucking them nearly in between the booth and his neck, "all I did as a kid was play Nintendo. I had all the collectors garbage and everything. Not like anything's changed since then though."  
  
He laughs, and it sounds more natural this time. It makes Gavin look up, and he feels a little less tense now. He offers a small sound of agreement and goes back to going through the menu prompts, relaxing a little in his seat.  
  
"I had a GameCube growing up," he says, setting the game aside as it goes through the opening cutscene, instead opting to glance in between it and Ray, "I was more a of PS2 person though."  
  
"PS2 was nice," Ray agrees, breaking off a piece of pound cake and eating it idly as he checks his phone and then tosses it back in his bag, "ever play Final Fantasy?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Gavin says, and he seems to forget he's in a crowded coffee shop because he doesn't realize the raise in his own voice, "how 'bout Grand Theft Auto?"  
  
Ray snorts around his mouthful, taking another sip of his coffee. The smell washes over him and Gavin crinkles his nose momentarily in disgust, "who hasn't, really? GTA is like a staple. I started playing that shit when I was like. Twelve."  
  
"Twelve year olds shouldn't be playing Grand Theft Auto," Gavin says with mock disapproval, maintaining a straight face until Ray looks at him incredulously and he huffs out a laugh and Ray cracks a smile, waving a hand at him dismissively as he shakes his head.  
  
"I was about to say, if you're not joking I might just get up and leave."  
  
"Go right ahead," Gavin says, sending him a challenging look. He peered over the 3DS, raising an eyebrow as Ray stayed silent. Finally he just shrugs, starting to pull his stuff together.  
  
"Okay, bye," he says, starting to inch out of the booth. Gavin catches his gaze and he snickers and scoots back into his seat, sprawling out in the corner of the booth, "just kidding."  
  
"I'm not done anyways," Gavin says, not even looking up from the game. He hears Ray huff from across the table and rolls his eyes, looking up only to shake his head. He stops for a moment, finally deciding to ask the question nagging on him this whole time.  
  
"How did you get your hands on this anyways?" he asked, looking in between Ray and the console in his hands, watching Ray's line of sight do the same.  
  
"Oh, I work at Gamestop," he says, and shrugs again. Gavin quirks a brow at him but doesn't question it, and goes back to the game. But Ray keeps talking, and Gavin listens intently, not taking his eyes off the game, "my manager's pretty cool about us taking early releases, as long as we don't go waving it around and shit."  
  
"That's pretty slack of him," Gavin throws out there, still not looking up. He completes the level he's on and looks up to find Ray isn't even looking at him, instead staring at the tabletop. Ray notices his shift in gaze and meets his eyes, raising his eyebrows in question.  
  
"Yeah, but its still pretty chill because I get games and shit early," he says with a half-smile, and Gavin notices his abnormally long canines.  
  
"Yeah," Gavin says offhandedly, and Ray doesn't break eye contact. It goes on a moment too long and Gavin drops his eyes back to the game, biting his lip out of habit until Ray's voice breaks his focus.  
  
"What do you do?"  
  
"What?" he says, looking up at him briefly before cursing quietly as he's knocked down a stage by a goomba.  
  
"What do you do? For a living, or whatever."  
  
Gavin notices the sudden change of subject, but doesn't question it.  
  
"I do film work. Mostly freelance."  
  
"Really? I wouldn't have taken you for an artsy person," Ray says, taking an elongated sip of his coffee, and Gavin can feel his eyes boring into the side of his head.  
  
"What kind of person did you take me for, then?" he asks, looking up at him quizzically. He game makes a noise when he dies and he doesn't really react, just sets the DS down the lamented wood tabletop.  
  
"I don't know," Ray says, looking out the window, looking thoughtful, "maybe I just thought you were somebody who had some boring, stable job. Like an office job. Or like an accountant."  
  
He pauses for a minute before he laughs, running a hand down the side of his face and scratching his neck. The sound of his nails against stubble reminds him of velcro.  
  
"Hell no," Gavin says, leaning back in the booth. He tips the 3DS closed and stretches his legs under the table, accidentally bumping the table's leg, "I'm not that boring."  
  
"Are you sure?" Ray says with a playful smile, slapping his palm on the table lightly, setting a small shock through the table.  
  
"I'm sure," he says, and their eyes meet, and Ray's smile seems to melt away. The crawl in his spine returns, but its different this time, and he licks his lips, and Gavin thinks he sees Ray's eyes dart down for a split second, but it happens so quickly he's not sure.  
  
"So, are you done?" Ray asks finally, breaking the eye contact and gesturing towards the 3DS that lay on the table, the power light steadily fading in and out.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Gavin says, maybe a little too quickly, and hands it to him. Ray takes it back, opening it up and saving it before shutting it down and tucking it back into his bag. He stuffs the rest of his pound cake into his mouth and crumbles up the small pastry bag it came in, tossing it towards a nearby trash can, nailing it dead-center.  
  
"I think I'm gonna get going," he says, glancing out the window, "it looks like the snow's getting worse, and I don't exactly want to be stuck out here if they decide to shut down the subway."  
  
Gavin glances outside, and feels vaguely disoriented when he realizes it's dark, and the snow as piled on the window sill high enough to hide the sidewalk from his view.  
  
"Yeah, me too," he says quietly, quickly pulling together his things and making his way towards the door, Ray follows quietly behind.

 

* * *

  
  
He's pulled away from his thoughts when he hears the train screeching to a stop, the sound echoing through the empty tunnels. He senses Ray come up behind him and turns, coming face-to-face with him.  
  
"It's about time it got here," he says, his cheeks pink and wind-whipped. He gives him that same half-smile and Gavin watches in silence as he walks right up to the yellow caution line. The gust the train kicks up throws Ray's hair up in its wake, flying around his face in a mess of dark ringlets. Gavin imagines he's the kind of person who runs across the tracks because he's too impatient to find an actual crossover.  
  
The doors open and Ray boards, Gavin following shortly after. A few people file in after them, and the doors close as Ray slips into a seat and throws his bag into the seat next to him. Gavin decides to seat next to the bag, rather than Ray, and Ray looks at him but doesn't question him.  
  
The ride back is silent besides the muffled roar of the tunnel and the rattle of the train itself. Its a quick ride, and Ray's standing before the train's even stopped, making Gavin wonder why he even sat down in the first place. He's in front of the doors when the name of their stop's announced, and when the doors open Ray's gone in a blur. When Gavin gets off, he almost expects him to be gone, but he's standing outside, waiting quietly.  
  
"We're going to the same place, why not go together?" he says, as if he read his mind, and Gavin just follows him, not going to argue with him when he's right.  
  
They walk for awhile before Ray speaks up again, walking with one hand in his pocket and one on his bag strap.  
  
"You're just as quiet as I thought, though."  
  
"I just don't say anything if I don't have anything to say," he replies plainly, and when Ray looks at him, he just gives him a small shrug.  
  
"I've never met anybody who doesn't have anything to say," he says, and his tone has dropped considerably. Now Gavin looks at him, with a quizzical glint in his eye. Ray looks back at him and shrugs back, his lip quirking just a bit.  
  
"Everybody's got a story," he explains simply, and falls silent again. Gavin doesn't know exactly how to take that, so he doesn't say anything, either.  
  
They get back to their complex quickly, even with the snow, and Gavin stomps off his shoes when they walk in. The power's back on, because the room is warm and the lights are on and Gavin silently thanks God. Ray watches him, and when they get to the elevator, he breaks the silence.  
  
"Do you drink?" he asks out of the blue, looking straight ahead.  
  
"Yeah?" Gavin says, looking at him, looking for clarification.  
  
"Wanna hang out sometime? I got tequila," he says, looking back at him with a small smirk. Gavin feels his skin crawl again, and his immediate reaction is to throw out an excuse, or simply avoid the situation. But he speaks without thinking, and doesn't know whether to regret it or not.  
  
"Sure," he says, and the words feel like molasses in his mouth, heavy and thick and awkward.  
  
"Cool," he says, and the smirk turns into what looks like a smile, but Gavin isn't quite sure. When the elevator dings for his floor, he's still looking at Ray stupidly, and Ray's smile falls away just enough to be noticeable.  
  
"Night, Gav," he says as Gavin steps out of the elevator. Gavin turns just enough to see him raise his hand to wave before the elevator doors slam in his face.

 

* * *

  
  
Gavin trugs back to his apartment and kicks his shoes off a bit more aggressively than normal. Smee seems to sense his change in attitude and sits at the far end of the entryway, just the tip of his tail swaying as he watches him. Tossing his bag at the foot of the bed and hanging his coat on the hook, he goes over to the couch and lays across it, feet dangling over the edge. He hears a faint meow and Smee rubs against the side of the couch, quietly demanding his attention. He runs his hand along his back, and Smee takes this as a cue to jump up on his stomach, curling up on his chest. He stares at him, body gently rumbling against him. Gavin rubs his cheeks, feeling him lean into his palm, whiskers tickling his fingers.  
  
He doesn't know what to think about today, and he doesn't know how to feel either. Ray has always seemed aloof, always seemed to give off the vibe of somebody who doesn't follow law or order. And now he's getting mixed signals, and he doesn't know whether his screaming instincts are right or his sudden pull towards him is trying to say something about it all, but either way, Gavin doesn't like it.  
  
That itching feeling in his skin, his bones returns and its the same and different all at the same time. Gavin only makes it a few minutes before he gently pushes Smee off his chest and onto the floor, already making his way for the kitchen, hand already in his pocket.  
  
He finds his coffee cup on the counter, empty now, and puts it next to the sink. He pulls out his lighter and picks up the cup, carefully lighting the bottom of the cup. The recycled paper takes easily, and the flame licks away at in, eating away and making the off-white a dark, warm brown. Gavin smells the rich scent of burnt coffee, and its somewhat soothing.  
  
He sets the cup in the sink and watches it slowly disappear. Soon, its burned away enough that the cup falls to its side, gently rocking back and forth as the fire consumes the sides. Gavin rests his chin on the cool metal of side of the sink and watches, until its nothing but paper remnants and soot in the bottom of the sink.  
  
When he falls asleep that night, he's at the subway again. And when the train whizzes by and grabs Ray's hair in its whirlwind, the ends of his hair catch fire. By the time it's gone, Ray's hair is completely engulfed in flame.  
  
Gavin wakes up twenty minutes before his alarm, at 5:40, this time in a sweat.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if any of you guy's like to listen to music while you read, I definitely recommend anything by Tove Lo. It's literally all I listened to while writing this chapter, and all her music goes really well with this fic.
> 
> This chapter was really fun to write, haha. It came to me really naturally and I pretty much sat down and stream-rolled this out in a few hours. Also, as a heads-up, I will be bumping the rating up to M, just because there is gonna be some more intense themes down the road.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Until next time, peace.


	4. Chapter 4

The days pass, unintelligible from each other, mundane and slow. Gavin realizes he can't recall some pieces parts of the day, and it makes him antsy. Everything is an almost eerie calm, so calm he seems to drift through the day, on an automatic schedule. So automatic he can't remember getting on the subway this morning.   
  
There is a disrupt to the peace, though, so deep in the back of his head is feels like its scratching at his nape. It's the reason his apartment smells like chemical burn, a vegetable bag forgotten, crammed in the bottom of one of the paper bags he burned in the bathtub this morning.  
  
Every day for the past four days, he's been jolted away by the smell of burning hair. By the time he's awake and alert, it's gone.  
  
He can smell it, he can fucking smell it. The distinct mix of expensive cologne, too expensive cologne, and a natural, rusty smell. It mixes with the grease of the subway and the smell of standard, average-joe shampoo every morning and makes his nose burn.  
  
He takes a harsh breathe through his nose and huffs, leaning on his elbow and putting his chin in his palm. He catches Jeremy's gaze out of the corner of his eye and looks at him dead-on, and he can feel the heat of his emotions boiling behind his eyes. Jeremy takes note and gives him a skeptical look, quirking a brow.  
  
"What's your deal today?" he asks, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. It only exaggerates his height, and Gavin shifts his weight so he stands a bit taller. Jeremy just looks at him, his expression slowly fading into confusion, until he realizes and his eyes narrow.  
  
"Good one, Gav."  
  
"Mmm," he murmurs, reaching into a bag of peanut brittle he'd snatched off the shelf and taking a bite. It snaps and sends crumbles flying over the counter, bouncing off and into the floor. Jeremy just watches, eyes still narrow.  
  
"Just cause you're in a bad mood doesn't mean you get to make the counter a damn mess," he says. Gavin can feel him staring at him, can see his gaze out of the corner of his eye, but he ignores it in favor of more peanut brittle.  
  
"Mmm," he says, snapping more chocolate bits and peanut shards across the counter.  
  
He hears a sigh, and then the sound of Jeremy's boots leaving his presence. He relaxes, stretching his free arm across the counter, digging in his bag for a decent piece of brittle. He grunts as it evades him, until he finally stands up for some leverage and fishes it out of the bottom of the bag. It crunches in his mouth before its followed by the familiar snap.  
  
The snow still sat piled up outside, and Gavin watched as people picked their way through the drifts, some alone, some with company. A group of black girls ventured through, laughing and tripping in it, plowing through it and throwing up slush and fresh powder from the night before.  
  
Gavin takes another bite of peanut brittle, and his teeth scrape and he feels a chill roll down his spine.

 

* * *

 

 

It's a slow and tedious walk to the station. Gavin's gate turns from a brisk walk to a staggered, lazy stroll and he doesn't realize it until he almost runs into somebody walking a little too close.

  
He'd be lying if he said he wanted to go home.  
  
He liked being by himself. But the apartment was too monotonous, and he felt like, if he kept following this cycle, this automatic, dull cycle, it would make the insistent buzzing in the back of his head worse.  
  
He isn't sure how, because he only vaguely remembers getting on the subway, but he ends up at that hole-in-the-wall, tucked away in the tiny Southern Bronx restaurant district. The smell of fresh ground coffee beans and warm yeast manages to drag him out of his haze, and he feels alert for the first time in days.  
  
He orders without thinking about it, and sits at the bar. He watches the baristas bustle behind the counter and his head starts to swim, feeling over-sensitized and desensitized all at once. People seem to drift in and out, the steady ebb and flow it always has here, a building with it's own pulse.  
  
He barely notices when the barista sets his coffee next to him on the bar and calls his name, because his eyes are focused on the door. The flow seems the stall, almost to a complete halt, because when the door opens Gavin's ears ring and he loses all orientation.  
  
Then he blinks, and the thrum is back. He turns to the barista, and he must look completely off his ass because she smiles at him with a hint of concern. He manages a small smile in return and thanks her, snaking his arm out and pulling his coffee towards himself.  
  
Ray seems to float among the crowd, in and out of his field of vision. He doesn't stand out at all, really, but to Gavin it's like somebody's outlined him in bold sharpie. He knows he can see him, knows he knows he's here, but he pretends not to notice, and sips his coffee. He keeps him carefully tucked in the corner of his vision, watching him fade in and out, slowly inching his way through the line.  
  
He's still staring at his phone, his eyes straining to focus on Ray from the corner of his vision, as Ray slips from the line, cramming his receipt into his back pocket. When he reaches the edge of the bar, Gavin can feel the atmosphere thicken, and it's like walking into 100% humidity fresh out of the shower.  
  
He feels Ray's jacket brush against his back as he passes behind him and his skin explodes, his hair standing on end and his jaw seizes, like when you eat something a bit too sour. He can feel his mass shift as he settles onto the stool next to him, and leans on the counter, both arms crossed as he braces his upper body over it. Gavin finally looks at him directly, and that same familiar smile stretches across Ray's face.  
  
"Hey," he says, and his voice is low and soft. Gavin is a little taken aback, because this is the first time he's seen him look presentable. His curls, en masse, are actually groomed and are soft around his face. He's shaved to a crisp stubble, and his clothes actually fit well, instead of the baggy boot-cuts and t-shirts that cling to his shoulders and drape around his small frame.  
  
"Hey," he finally replies, swallowing. His throat is suddenly dry, and he feels the muscles in his neck spasm as he swallows again. It feels like the salvia is sticking to the dry patches in his throat, so he coughs lightly, taking a sip of his coffee and averting his eyes.  
  
Ray laughs, and its more of a quiet, brief chuckle. Something to fill the void of conversation, instead of anything with actual meaning. Gavin makes a quiet realization that he does that a lot. He watches him stretch out across the bar, unfolding his arms and bracing his elbow on the counter top, resting his cheek in his hand as he continues to look at him. He doesn't have a bag with him today. Instead of carrying around expensive merchandise, he instead smells and looks like expensive merchandise.  
  
"What's up?" he asks simply, still smiling, and its haunting in its own right, and Gavin can't figure out why. The finger's cradling Ray's cheeks wander, and find their way to his mouth, his ring finger gently hooking his bottom lip and pulling down to expose the soft, shiny inside. Gavin doesn't let his eyes drift but he can see it, see it clearly enough to make out his short but neat nails and the line of stubble beneath his lip. He clutches his coffee cup, craving the warmth has his arm explodes in goosebumps, and he doesn't understand why his universe has shifted from a blur to a buzz.  
  
"Didn't want to go home," he says, just as simply. His voice is quiet in the buzz of the cafe, but it sounds like a boom to his own ears. It obviously wasn't too quiet for Ray, because he laughs, that same laugh, and glances down as the barista slides him his drink, before his gaze returns. Gavin looks back, and his eyes have an edge to them. A sharp, unforgiving edge, that he knows he needs to take as a warning.  
  
"So I guess you're not doing anything tonight?" Ray leads on, shifting his eyes to the menu, pretending to read it with faux-interest. Gavin doesn't look away, but Ray never looks away from the board, taking a sip from his cup occasionally.   
  
It plays like a loop in his head as he stares at Ray, who continues to stare at the board, and it aggravates him, because he's putting him in a corner. He finds himself picking at the edge of his coffee lid, and Ray perks, but doesn't look at him. He runs his thumb over the mouthpiece and sticks the tip inside, pulling it out with a hollow pop.  
  
"No," he says finally, and Ray tilts his head back to look at him. His hair tumbles across his shoulders, and he raises a brow, sipping his coffee. He turns back to the board, folding his hands and putting his chin on top of his knuckles, pulling a face as he moves in his seat.  
  
"Me and some friends are gonna go shoot some pool tonight," he says thoughtfully, taking another idle sip before looking at him, raising both eyebrows in a silent question. When Gavin stays silent, he runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his seat with a partial grunt.  
  
"You can tag along, if you want," he adds after a moment, spinning his barstool around so that they're face-to-face. Gavin feels their knees brush, and doesn't make any move to get away, just looks back at him. He flashes him a half smile, and his expression immediately softens.  
  
Gavin can't think of any other way to describe it, because his face in not warm. It's more like his face just melts, molds into a soft, unreadable palette. It's relaxed, but also distinctly aloof. Purposively aloof.  
  
Without breaking eye contact, Gavin reaches for his coffee. He takes a long drag from it and Ray watches, intent, and Gavin knows they're playing a game. Every action, from them both, is calculated, almost scripted. Gavin remembers the edge in his eyes, and wonders why he's doing this, when he knows.   
  
Yet he feels the obnoxiously pull, the obnoxious thrill, and he can't stop.  
  
"When?" Gavin asks, and its too quiet. Too quiet in the thrum of the cafe. But Ray hears him again, regardless.  
  
Because he smiles, and it's a little too warm.  
  


 

* * *

 

Gavin pulls on a blazer, an old thing he bought when he was twenty-two, and smooths it out. He runs a hand down his face as he turns over everything on his kitchen counter, and tears up the blankets laying across the couch.  
  
He'd come home to change out his work clothes. He didn't have a uniform, thank Christ, but he preferred not going out in clothes he's worked in. Work makes it feel like your clothes stick to you like a dirty second skin, and Gavin isn't a dirty person.  
  
Somehow, he'd misplaced his wallet in his sprawling 700 square foot apartment. He'd be impressed if he wasn't pissed.  
  
He yanks a blanket from the couch and watches it go spiraling, and it hits the wall with a firm slap. Smee jumps from the bed, startled, and tears through the kitchen, before flying onto the couch and diving under a blanket. Gavin shakes his head and rubs him behind the ears, picking his wallet and tucking it into his back bottom. His fingers brush the receipt in his pocket and he pauses, slowly running his finger across it, listening to it faintly crinkle.  
  
It's a receipt for a medium caramel latte, triple shot. A number is written on the back, in black ball point pen.  
  
He picks his keys off the kitchen counter and pats all his pockets, making sure he hasn't lost anything else to his own personal void. With one last check, he buttons his blazer and makes his way out of the apartment and into the slush.  
  
The wind is gentle, but carries a chill that bites through him. Rush hour traffic had cleared, enough that cars no longer stood at a standstill at a green light. Gavin side stepped as a group of loud, drunk, college-aged kids pushed past him, nearly shoving him into the gutter. He stuffed his hands into his pockets with a resigned sigh, picking his way through the night crowd that clustered the streets.  
  
He takes the subway down three stops, and steps off with what feels like half the train. Business oriented signs litter the tiled walls, and the grout here is actually clean, a light grey instead of the black mold of the station located near his apartment.  
  
At least Ray is smart enough to go to a pub out here.  
  
The pub's just a few blocks down, settled in between a restaurant and a tattoo parlor. When he walks in he's assaulted by the clatter of pool balls and the sound of middle aged, drunken men. In the echo, he hears it. A light, airy laugh he recognizes immediately, even though he's never heard it before.  
  
He's at the corner table, back pressed against the wall. When he laughs, his jaw shutters, wolfishly. It fits him, and he finds himself staring.  
  
Ray sees him, and both his eyebrows pop up, as if surprised he actually showed. He doesn't blame him. Gavin's pretty surprised too. He has a beer in his hand, and he takes a long sip from it, eyes locked with his across the room.  
  
He beckons him over, and everybody standing at the table turns to look in his direction. He puts his hands in his pockets and strides towards the table, stopping at the end. There's a silence, as some of them continue to look him over, a small girl in particular. He ignores them, in favor of giving Ray a look. Ray just smirks, and lolls his tongue across his bottom lip.  
  
"Hey," he greets, giving him a small wave. He pushes himself away from the wall and sways a bit, but steadies himself easily. He takes another heavy slug from his beer, before setting it on the edge of the pool table. He's obviously relaxed, leaning against the table with a lazy half-smile, swinging his beer idly in his hand. "Nice to see you came."  
  
"Yeah," he says, taking a quick glance around, getting a better look than when he first came in. It's nice, but not incredible by any standards. A typical pub and billiards, with better furnishings than most. He turns his gaze back to the people surrounding the table, and is a little peeved to see that same girl eyeing him. Her gaze averts to the man next to her after Gavin notices, and he can't say he's too upset. The guy standing next to her looks down and shrugs, taking a sip of his own beer.  
  
"Sup. I'm Joel," he says, the first of them to actually introduce themselves.  
  
"Jack," says the guy with the beard, who's leaning heavily on the table himself, beer mug in hand.  
  
The girl finally turns to look at him again, face noticeably more sour. She's not bad looking, not at all, but her attitude and insistent, obvious staring is. She flicks her hair back behind her shoulder, and Gavin's already got her labeled and branded in the back of his mind as a bitch.  
  
"Meg," she says curtly, arms crossed. She's the only one without a beer, and apparently the only one with a stick up her ass.  
  
"Gav, come shoot a game," Ray's voice cuts through his thoughts and he turns to see him centering the rack. He gestures towards the pool sticks leaning against the wall, and Gavin gravitates towards them wordlessly. He can hear Jack and Joel strike up a conversation as Ray shuffles the pool balls across the table. He looks up at him briefly before centering the rack and pulling the frame up, storing it in the table. "I'll break."  
  
He watches him chalk the tip and set up, before sliding the stick in between his thumb and pointer finger, once, twice.  
  
The rack explodes and Gavin barely sees him sink a solid. He stacks two more, before he scratches, and looks to Gavin. He loops around the table to take a seat in an empty stool, and Gavin almost feels like he's circling him.  
  
He sinks two more to keep up with him before he misses and pegs the cue ball in the pocket, and Ray smirks a little as the cue ball audibly drops and rolls through the interior of the table. When he stands and stalks around the table, Gavin can feel his presence vividly, like heat radiating against his back.  
  
"I'm gonna go get a beer," he says, and his voice doesn't sound like his own. Ray simply nods.  
  
Joel and Jack have wandered a few tables over after their initial meeting, and they're playing a game of their own. They don't seem to notice him as he slips by, and he makes his way to the bar. He orders himself a Blue Moon and waits, resting his elbows on the glossy countertop. He hears somebody set down a glass, and glances to his right. Meg sits, perched on bar stool. She looks at him, out the corner of her eye, before turning straight ahead again.  
  
"That bottle of vodka must be really interesting, huh," he says, wrapping his hand around his mug when the bartender slides it to him. He hears her glass slam against the counter and he takes an idle sip of his own, listening to her try to gather her words.  
  
"I don't know who you are, but I don't like you," she says, and her tone is sharp and unforgiving. She grabs her purse, and her drink, and slides off the barstool, making her way towards the bathroom. Gavin rolls his eyes, taking another sip of his beer before making his way back towards his table. Ray is waiting, and he looks at him with what looks like sympathy, but his eyes shine with amusement.  
  
"It's your shot," is all he says, as he hands Gavin the pool stick.  
  


 

* * *

 

  
It's two in the morning when Gavin stumbles back to the apartment, with Ray at his side.  
  
Ray chuckles a bit, staggering. His gate is nearly bow legged when he's drunk, and it doesn't help on the uneven sidewalks. He's pushed him into the brick siding a few times, and Gavin just lets him without complaint, too drunk to feel the scrape or mind the push.  
  
"You suck at pool," he says, breaking the silence for the first time as he bumps him into the siding again. It feels cool against his hot skin and he almost stays there, but makes himself keep on even as the concrete sways below him.  
  
"So do you," he shoots back, but it sounds pathetic in his slurred, drunken lilt. Ray grins, it's a stupid grin, and Gavin finds himself smiling, if only partially.  
  
Him and Ray tag team the door of their apartment building. Gavin wrestles it open and Ray keeps his foot in the door before cramming his way in, Gavin close behind. He stumbles into the foyer, opting for the elevator instead of the stairs, which is probably the only smart decision he's made in the past few hours.  
  
Ray presses the button for his floor, and goes for Gavin's, but misses. He cracks a smile and fumbles for it, nailing it the second time.  
  
"Looks like we're making an extra stop," he says jokingly to Gavin, leaning on the railing of the elevator. He runs his hands through his hair, and looks at him, his smile slowly disappearing. Gavin can't tell if it's Ray's eyes swimming or his, because he feels like he's living every moment three seconds in the past.  
  
"Next week?" Ray asks quietly, even though its just them in the elevator. Gavin vaguely hears the doors chime as they slide open, and he fumbles, trying to find his footing because he feels like the floor is rocking to the beat of his pulse.  
  
"Yeah," he says, somehow making his way onto the dirty carpet of the hallway without tripping. His fingers linger on the frame until the doors start to shut, and the last thing he registers is the doors slamming in his face.  
  
It isn't until he gets all the way down the hall that he realizes he got off on the wrong floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this out sooner, but work ended up kicking my ass and I didn't have any time this week. But here's chapter four, late and a little lame. 
> 
> I am gonna try and start making the chapter's longer, hopefully around three/four thousand words per. Probably won't ever stick to that, but I'm happy with the length of this one.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading. <3


	5. Notice

I'd like to apologize for letting this fic sit here to rot for nearly a year now. My depression has been eating me alive for awhile now. It's still rough and unsteady, but I'm feeling better than I have been the past 6 months or so. However, I've dropped out of the RT/AH fan base since Ray left, and honestly, I don't even know if I can accurately continue this fic because I haven't kept up with their content for nearly a year let alone kept up with the fic. My old computer also crashed so I have no access to whatever I had written and or planned out, plot wise, for this. 

So here's my question, if anybody else is still keeping up with this fic; would any of you guys be interested in this same setting and plot device, with OCs, or would you rather I continue with Rayvin? I cannot promise that I'll be consistent, as I obviously failed last time, but I remembered this account and came back to it, and seeing all the positive feedback again gave me a spark of inspiration, and I'm definitely willing to revive this story line as I enjoyed writing it. 

Thanks for all the support back then. It meant a lot then and it means a lot now. And if you guys want this to be revived, I'll do my best for you.


End file.
